


Dangerous Woman

by Rererewritten



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Clexa, F/F, canon-divergence, touch of smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-13
Updated: 2016-04-13
Packaged: 2018-06-01 23:44:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6541627
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rererewritten/pseuds/Rererewritten
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was the way she looked at her sometimes, that much Clarke knew. Light eyes drinking her in with looks that awakened something deep inside of her, something instinctual and borderline primal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I'm working on a couple longer projects and got sidetracked with a whole lotta "being an adult" bullshit and needed something to get back into writing mode. This is the result. I may do another quick one for another song I have in mind, though I kind of want to smack myself at the cheesiness of doing a fic based off a song. It was actually fun stomping this out in an afternoon, though, so hey, hit me up on tumblr under the same username if you have any requests, and I may just fill them. Or not. 
> 
> This fic, though, is based on "Dangerous Woman" by Ariana Grande. It diverges from canon pretty much immediately following "Goodnight, Ambassador" because fuck everything that happened after that, right? Hope y'all enjoy. Let me know, either way. Thanks for reading!

It was the way she looked at her sometimes, that much Clarke knew. Light eyes drinking her in with looks that awakened something deep inside of her, something instinctual and borderline primal.

Sometimes when she looked at her, it was with a soft patience. It was a common look when they were just starting to get to know each other, and it still found its place when Lexa explained some new concept or technique. It was a look Clarke had never seen the Commander direct towards any other living creature until she made it to Polis and saw her instructing the young Nightbloods. At first, she was not sure how to take this realization that the look was not unique. It was not a look solely designated to her, but one the veteran warrior used to pacify unlearned children. Or at least, that’s what her anger that had been so quick to rise at any little thing the Commander did ever since she arrived at Polis so unceremoniously told her. But then she realized it wasn’t the what the look was directed at that was important, but rather the who. The Nightbloods were to be the future Commanders. They were, inarguably, the most vital group of people in the Grounders’ culture. The future of the 12 clans depended on the type of leaders they became. Lexa pushed herself to be patient with them when she gave no one else such a curtesy because they were important. They were more than important. They would one day be the leader of all 12 clans, and she had to make sure that they fully understood the weight that they would be carrying, that they were fully prepared to handle the pressure of it all. They were destined for greatness, and Lexa looked at Clarke the exact same way she looked at the Nightbloods. She was patient with her because she believed that Clarke was destined for great things, Clarke realized. She was doing all she could to ensure that her lessons, the lessons that had been passed down from Commander to Commander, and those lessons she, herself, had learned the hard way during her own reign, sunk in. She saw a leader in Clarke. She always had, from the very beginning. She saw someone that was capable of leading her people to war. She saw someone that was capable of leading her people to a better future. The Commander of the 12 Clans thought Clarke capable. So, that look, that soft, patient look, sent a swell of pride roaring through Clarke’s chest, forcing her spine erect and her chin up and pushing her to reach the greatness of which Lexa wholeheartedly believed her capable.

Sometimes, Lexa looked at her with curious intrigue. She looked at her as if she were some strange creature that was delivered to her doorstep by the stars themselves, and she had no idea what to do with such a thing. As if she had been so sure of her life and her future and then Clarke happened, and now all she could do was sit back and watch what this foreign being would do next because her unpredictability drove a sense of wonder within her. She looked at Clarke as if she were the wild thing, uncaged and running about the forest. She watched her with the slightest hint of fascination, and it was a look that made Clarke smirk and crave more when she caught it, her ability to throw off the Commander in such a way causing the blood in her veins to hum in satisfaction.

She always looked at her with a supportive gaze, though sometimes it bordered on egging the blonde on. Clarke was stubborn. Clarke had a temper. Clarke had pride. As did many other leaders. And when they gathered in small rooms together and studied over large maps and talked about matters of survival, of war, it was easy for egos to flare up. There was one thing Clarke was not though, and that’s stupid. She knew the leaders of the Clans’ armies were twice her size. She knew they could kill her before she had a chance to bat her eye. She knew even the Clans’ Ambassadors, simple politicians by their job description, had more hours of combat training than hours she had been on the ground. She wasn’t stupid. She knew she could not take them on, on her own. But then Lexa stood there, at the head of the table, catching her gaze, giving her support, and giving her that _something_ that served to push Clarke on. It made her brave. It made her tall. And after Quint attacked her and Lexa backed her look up with actual action, Clarke felt nearly invincible in those meetings and in those interactions. Her temper would flare and her fists would clench and she would always cast a glance towards Lexa to make sure she wasn’t about to push a precarious situation amongst the clans over the edge, and when Lexa looked back, giving her support with a minuscule raise of an eyebrow and a near imperceptible nod of her head, Clarke would pull from all of the anger and pain constantly brewing within her, swirling just below her breast bone, and her words would become steam from her lips, scalding hot as she cemented her right to be there and reminded those around her exactly what _Wanheda_ was capable of. And when she would glance back at Lexa afterwards, feeling somewhat embarrassed about losing her temper, though never showing it, there was always a look of pride dancing in silver eyes that made Clarke’s heart beat to the rhythm of war drums.

Sometimes the Commander would look at others with darkness. A lot of times, she looked at others with darkness. Her eyes would narrow, and lithe muscles would strain against sun-tanned skin, and if she were forced to stare long enough, her top lip would curl into a snarl that would set even the bravest warrior shaking. Her eyes were pure fire, and as if they were drawing all of the heat from the room, the temperature surrounding them would seemingly drop. It happened in war rooms and Ambassador meetings and on battle fields and in training sessions when she lost herself in the fight. It was a dangerous look. It was a deadly look. It was a look that was never cast on Clarke for more than a few seconds. Because Lexa would eventually pull her eyes away from the source of her aggression, either after she won the argument, or because she realized that now was not the time for such matters, or because now there was a body lain, twisted and broken at the foot of the tower, and eventually, those deadly eyes would land back on Clarke. When they did, they would be dark and stormy and Clarke would do her best not to gulp, not to back down, because she knew. She understood, now, after so many times of watching it happen. Lexa would turn to her, and Clarke would watch the storm clouds dissipate from her gaze, and she could see the muscles in her shoulders relaxing. She held her gaze until Lexa remembered herself. It was why Lexa would turn to her. It was why Lexa sought her out after battles and duels. No matter how terrifying the first few seconds were, Clarke found herself starting to live for these moments, for this proof of what she was to the idolized leader. Clarke humanized her. She grounded her. With a simple look, she, Clarke Griffin, could tame the Commander of the Blood. And whenever she did, her head would swim with power, and her heart would beat between her legs, and Clarke had to swallow hard and focus on slowing her breathing in order to calm the wild thing rattling its cage within her own chest.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for reading!

“Come to see a real warrior fight?” The large man asked as Clarke found a spot against the short wooden fence that lined the sparring ring. She met Lexa’s eye as the Commander stepped into the lined circle, becoming emboldened by the nod sent her way after Lexa’s eyes darted from Clarke to the man in front of her before she turned to speak with one of her guards standing in the ring.

“Yes, and I can’t wait for her to kick your ass,” was Clarke’s unblinking reply. She recognized the guard Lexa was talking to as the one Roan had flattened with a sucker punch in the duel the week before. She wondered how he felt about his Heda putting him in a similar position so soon, or if these types of bouts were a regular occurrence in Lexa’s life, so much so that he just thought of it as a standard Tuesday.

An agitated sound rumbled up the Delphi fighter’s throat as he snatched one of the wooden staffs on the rack, knocking another two off their holders.

“Not off to a good start, are we?” Clarke lifted an eyebrow.

To say she was looking forward to this fight was an understatement. The leader of Delphi Clans’ army had been nothing but abrasive in their meetings during the Commander’s visit to the clan over the last few days, at times bordering on outright disrespectful to his Commander, as he shut down every suggestion and idea about how to best ease tensions between the Ice Nation and the bordering Delphi Clan now that Roan had been instated as King. The Delphi Clan had been Queen Nia and the Ice Nation’s biggest supporters of the coup, and everyone knew it. The Commander’s convoy had even run into a band of “rebels”—or so the Delphi leaders called them—on their journey to the clan’s capital. It had been late, and the air hung heavy and damp when arrows began to rain down on their temporary camp. A group of around fifty rebels attacked their smaller gathering, but the Commander and her trained forces made quick work of them. Clark had stood, a Delphi warrior dead at her own feet, chest heaving and heart pounding with adrenaline as her eyes landed on the Commander, standing tall in the thick of it all, bodies strewn all around her, eyes dark and focused as they searched the area, making sure the threat was completely dealt with. Clarke had gotten pulled into the tent turned emergency medical bay to help with the wounded before she was able to pull the Commander’s gaze. 

She had been finishing up a line of stitches on an unconscious man’s forehead when the sound of ruffled fabric and the feel of a late night breeze signaled the arrival of a new patient. “I’ll be right with you,” she assured without bothering to look up, her hands steady and unwavering as they twisted the final knot. A stillness passed over the room, and Clarke glanced at the table to her right where a healer had been getting ready to set a guard’s dislocated shoulder to find both doctor and patient facing the tent opening, the patient sitting upright and doing his best to hide his grimace. 

Clarke had slowly turned around to find the Commander standing there, dark and stormy as her eyes took in the recovering injured, her nose flaring as she observed the bodily damage of the attack. “Heda,” Clarke addressed carefully, goosebumps crawling up her spine when steel eyes slowly landed on her. Her brow was furrowed, and her hand remained clenched around the hilt of the sword sheathed at her side. “Leave us,” Clarke turned to the conscious members of the medical bay. They heeded her command unquestioningly, the injured warrior holding his limp arm close to his side as he slumped out of the tent. When Clarke looked back, Lexa remained rooted to her spot. “Are you injured?” she asked, holding her eye, allowing Lexa’s gaze to bore into her own as she searched for herself in the sea of blue. Slowly, her eyes cleared, and her shoulders fell, and only then did she walk towards Clarke, though her steps were hesitant and deliberate, giving Clarke ample opportunity to stop her or walk away. She didn’t.

Clarke stood perfectly still as Lexa approached with her face decorated in blood and sweat. The attack had been such a surprise that there was no time for war paint or extensive armor. Seeing the blood on Lexa’s bare visage was a wholly new experience, her reaction to which, Clarke was unable to pin down. The Commander paused right in front of her, and Clarke watched as her eyes studied every inch of her, searching. When they landed on her face once more, her arm twitched, her hand relinquishing her sword and moving to reach up, but she stopped herself. Clarke swallowed and allowed her head to fall forward, resting on Lexa’s shoulder lightly. She took a steadying breath at the feel of the solid, living body beneath her. She reached for Lexa’s left hand and placed it on her hip. She took her right and rested it against her head. Catching on, Lexa’s arm wrapped around her back, and her hand soothed over her hair. 

“Are you hurt?” Lexa asked, her voice so delicate, Clarke’s heart swelled. No one would ever guess that the war hardened Commander that strode into the tent not three minutes prior would have been capable of such tenderness. _Just for me_. Clarke shivered at the reminder before sliding her arms around the slender waist in front of her, and stepping fully into the embrace, “No, I’m okay.”

Lexa let out a slow, relieved breath.

“And you? Are you okay?”

“I am good,” she assured, twirling her finger around a blonde curl, her other arm holding her closer, “now.”

 _Because of me_ , Clarke realized, taking a steadying breath of her own before giving the skilled warrior a light squeeze. Lexa could not fully swallow the hiss of pain that rose at the touch, and Clarke pulled back with a roll of her eyes. “Up,” she motioned to the now vacant table to her right. 

Lexa ran her fingers through Clarke’s hair a final time, giving a curl a playful tug, an innocent smile curling the furthest corners of her lips. Clarke watched in awe for a moment as the Commander of the 12 clans brightened into a young woman, carefree and flirty. But her face was decorated in blood and sweat, and so Clarke shook her head, reminding herself of the injuries awaiting her scrutiny.

“Come on, let’s have a look at the damage.”

Lexa’s hand lowered slowly, but the smile remained, “Yes, Ambassador.”

Clarke bit her lip and released a long breath through her nose as Lexa made her way towards the table. 

 

The surprise attack had set the mood for their entire visit to the Delphi clan. The leader of the clan--the First Minister, Lexa had explained his title as in English--had yet to even make an appearance for the Commander's visit. It was sign of disrespect that his advisors tried to explain as him being cut off from the knowledge of her arrival while on a hunting trip, assuring that he would be arriving back to the capital any day now. The longer it took for his arrival, though, the more Clarke began to wonder if the First Minister had been amongst the masked "rebels" that attacked their camp. If he had been, then they would be waiting for his return for a very long time for his body was now ash in the night sky. Tensions already high because of the attack and the clan leader's affront, the army leader’s insolence during the meetings only caused negotiations to sour at an even quicker pace. During each meeting, everyone watched the interactions between Lexa and the Delphi warrior on baited breath. And when the warrior made a snide comment about Lexa joining him in the training ring one day so that he could show her the proper, Delphi way to fight, his ambassador and a few others in the room chuckled under their breaths. The Ice Nation ambassador suggested that the Delphi Clan think of another way to partake in a trading of knowledge with the Commander, his words come out as more of an impartial warning than a simple suggestion. When Lexa actually, graciously accepted the offer, everyone but the Delphi warrior froze. Even his own ambassador stared at him with wide, worried eyes, rimmed with ‘Goodbye’. They had all been in Polis the week before when Queen Nia challenged Lexa to a duel to the death. They had all been there when Lexa defeated the Ice Nation’s greatest warrior and sent a spear through the Queen’s chest from across the arena. They had all been there. Everyone but the Delphi warrior. So, he simply smirked at her acceptance. 

“Clarke,” Lexa nodded as she took the warrior’s place at the weapons rack. “I am glad you made it.”

“It is always an honor watching you fight, Commander.”

Lexa raised her chin proudly, a small grin stretching one corner of her mouth. Clarke’s heart sped up at the memory of their feel, how soft and pliant they were when she placed a lingering kiss to the corner of Lexa’s mouth the night after the duel. The Commander had come to her, vulnerable and beautiful and saying so many things that Clarke needed to hear, and her breathy “Goodnight, Ambassador” had proved too much for Clarke’s weakened restraint. Lexa’s wide eyes and flushed cheeks when Clarke pulled away were nothing short of delicious, and her body had thrummed for more, more, more, but her head had screamed no, no, no, and Lexa must have sensed her hesitance for she stepped away with a gentle, knowing smile, making the decision for the both of them, though she trailed her fingers down Clarke’s arm as she made her way towards the door, leaving a burning reminder of where she stood in all of this, in all of them.

"It is especially an honor getting to see you thromp disrespectful assholes like that guy.”

Lexa’s lips thinned into a strained line, and her eyes danced, and Clarke knew she was holding back a chuckle. They were surrounded by a sizable audience, after all, so she had to maintain her usual graceful stoicism.

"Well, I hope my skills are able to live up to your standards,” Lexa answered smoothly, holding her eye.

Clarke’s lips parted, and a small, strangled sound escaped. She cleared her throat and straightened her shoulders before trying again, “I have no doubt that they will.”

At that, Lexa smirked and grabbed a staff for herself, twirling it expertly. Clarke rolled her eyes, though she couldn’t help but smile in amusement.

It was supposed to be a friendly training session, nothing more than light sparring with blade-less weapons, or at least, that was the guise under which the fight was agreed upon. It did not take long, though, for the pleasantries to be cast aside, and for the anger and aggression and snarling pride that had been brewing for the past week to come boiling up to and over the edge of the surface. The Delphi warrior was strong, perhaps even stronger than Roan, but he was slower and thoughtless. Lexa was quick and calculating and adaptive. She knew when to take a hit in order to unleash two of her own. She knew when to push forward and when to allow her opponent to come to her. Clarke had meant it when she said that it was an honor to watch the Commander fight. The way she moved, muscles lengthening and flexing in her bared arms in her short-sleeved top, the way she watched her opponent through warpaint-less eyes, the way she stalked; it was nothing short of magnificent. It was the thing epics were written about. It was the thing balladeers sung of. It was legendary, and Clarke was aware of that fact throughout every moment of the fight, her heart beating in time with the rhythm of Lexa’s swings. 

The fight quickly grew in intensity, as the hits landed heavier and heavier. The punch to Lexa’s face drew a gasp from the audience, and a heated growl from Clarke, the likes of which she had not known she was capable of. They had not agreed upon a hand-to-hand combat session, and the Commander had obviously not been expecting the swing. Her tongue darted out at the black blood filling the open cut at the corner of her mouth, and her eyes turned dark. Really dark. Dark enough that Clarke briefly wondered if the next leader of the Delphi army would arrive to the meeting the next day much more willing and compliant or if they would take offense to their current representative exiting the ring in a body bag. 

The Commander reveled in the darkness for a breath, after which her movements turned into a heated flurry. They were precise and relentless as she backed the warrior across the ring with blow after blow. She fainted at his head, and he ducked, and she used the opportunity to sweep his feet out from under him. He raised his staff above his chest in protection, and Lexa used a heavy foot to snap it in half with a menacing yell that had Clarke shifting in place, her thighs pressing together. 

"It is done," she glared down at him before spitting blood into the dirt near his head. She turned and tossed her staff towards the rack, her chest rising and falling in quick succession. Clarke’s eyes widened as the Delphi leader made his way to his feet, the staff in his hand much more dangerous with its now splintered end pointing outwards. A chorus of “Heda!” rang out from the crowd in warning—and one “Lexa!” when the sudden threat caused Clarke to forget herself—but the Commander was already spinning on her heel and stalking straight towards the fighter, her own hands empty. Clarke’s stomach rose to her throat as Lexa dodged the first swing, and allowed the second to hit. It was no more than a graze to her side, though, deep enough to draw blood, but not deep enough to slow her down as she played into her opponent's forward momentum, ducking past him to land a succession of blows to the vulnerable soft tissue of his lower back. He yelled in agitation, trying to mask the pain, but the Commander had already decided to end the fight for good, and there was not much he could do about it. He slashed towards her neck, and she caught the staff with both hands, yanking it down. He held on tightly, and she used his grip to her advantage, striking out with a strong kick to the top of his elbow. The cracking of bones could be heard through the back of the crowd. 

The back end of the staff dropped to the ground uselessly as a howl was pulled from the Delphi warriors lips. Lexa spun the staff as the warrior fell to his knees, his forearm hanging limp from his elbow, his hand resting lifelessly in the dirt. She raised the staff and drove the splintered end through the palm of his hand, twisting, destroying nerve and muscle. The message was clear: he would never wield a weapon again.

She turned once more, leaving the warrior pinned to the earth by his own treachery. Her chest heaved as her title was chanted once more in victory, drowning out the cries of pain from the warrior behind her. Clarke’s face flushed, her heady pulse resonating through her entire body as she watched the Commander allowing the cheers of the crowd to wash over her.

 

“What do you want to do with him?” the first question by the Delphi ambassador after they left the sparring circle was enough rile the Commander up with a second wind. Her words came out in rapid fire Trigedasleng as she told the Ambassador in grand detail what he could do with the former leader of his army. She burst through the door of the small guest house they were staying in on their visit, Clarke hot on her heels as the rest of their caravan trailed behind. Clarke’s eyes remained glued to the way the muscles in her arm tensed and relaxed as the Commander balled her fists in an attempt to control her anger as she marched through the house. Her mouth went dry as she followed defined lines that disappeared behind short sleeves and reappeared under a scooped neckline and disappeared again behind a thick mass of wavy brown hair, intricately braided. She found herself longing to feel those muscles rippling beneath her palm, and when Lexa entered the back bedroom of the shotgun house, Clarke followed, quickly closing and locking the door behind them.

“What are you doing?” Lexa turned in agitation at the sound of the lock. She attempted a calming breath as she met Clarke’s gaze, but it just came out jagged. “Clarke? We were discussing—“

“It can wait,” Clarke replied as she stepped into her and pressed a firm kiss to her lips. Lexa’s reaction was instantaneous, and Clarke was quickly backed against the wall, pinned there by a firm thigh between her legs as two hands hungrily groped at her through her shirt. Clarke slipped one of her own hands under the back of Lexa’s shirt as the other wrapped around her neck and held her close, finding satisfaction in the blazing hot skin and the rapid succession of heartbeats she could feel beneath her fingertips. She drug her nails down her back, and Lexa arched into her needily, her tongue pushing into Clarke’s mouth, widening the kiss. Clarke’s hand snuck around, popping open the button on Lexa’s jeans, and Lexa placed a hand on the wall behind her, using it as leverage to push herself away.

“Wait,” she huffed.

“Wait?” Clarke’s voice sounded cloudy to her ears, her breaths coming out in pants. She took a step towards the other girl, and Lexa shook her head as she started pacing the room. “Don’t you want to?” The real question on her mind had been, _Don’t you want me?_ , but Clarke knew that a negative answer to that would have been too much for either of them.

“Don’t be absurd,” Lexa waved her off as she paced back and forth, a shaky hand running through her hair as her other fist clenched and unclenched. Her eyes dark, and her muscles flexing, she appeared every bit the lethal panther stuck in a cage that was far too small for its feral heart. “You know I do. I just…I’m…my…” She pointed half-hazardly at her head, “Right now I’m…you deserve…”

Clarke sighed as she realized what Lexa was getting at, “There will be plenty of time and opportunities later for your romantic notions of what I deserve.”

“Plenty?” Lexa paused in front of her, her eyes hopeful and daring.

Clarke nodded. She reached out and grabbed a fistful of Lexa’s shirt and tugged her back to her, “But currently, I need _this_ ,” her free hand slipped under Lexa’s shirt and splayed itself out against the flat plains of her stomach, feeling the muscles twitch beneath her touch. Her eyes fluttered, and her words came out lowly, “I need you, exactly as you are,” her hand detangled itself from Lexa's shirt and popped open the button on her own jeans, “Right now.”

A rumbling growl emitted from her throat as the Commander’s eyes flashed downright predatorily the split moment before she pressed forward, forcing Clarke against the wall, her mouth warm and openly sucking against her neck. Her hand pushed inside of the blonde’s underwear, the need for any pretenses gone, and her breath shuttered against Clarke’s pulse point as her fingers slipped against the soft heat she found.

Clarke moaned unabashedly, her hands pulling her closer, “Please.”

Lexa pushed two fingers inside of her, and Clarke’s nails dug into her back, causing Lexa to bite down on the strained tendon in her neck. “Fuck me...” came Clarke’s haggard reply, unsure if it was an interjection or a command as Lexa’s lips met hers in a hungry kiss.


End file.
